Hanging up the phone, he lunges for me, sending pizza everywhere. I shriek and try to move away, but his arms are already around me.
“I don’t see what you’re laughing about,” he growls, tugging me onto his lap. “It’s not fucking funny. What if he heard you laughing?”
“Oh, will you relax?” I giggle. “If he heard me he’d just think you had some girl at your place. He has no reason to think we’re together,” I assure him. He nods, his expression less alarmed. I hide a grin. Unable to resist, I comment, “I wonder if he has this place bugged. Maybe cameras?”
Pietro’s eyes widen. He pushes me off his lap and jumps up, leaving me rolling on the sofa, laughing. Turning back around, he glares at me.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he mutters, but his eyes are smiling.
I get to my feet and wrap my arms around his waist, sighing as he pulls me into a kiss. He’s right about one thing. I am enjoying this. But way too much?
I’m not sure that’s even possible.
Chapter 21
Pietro
The waitress I’ve come to know as Kelly smiles at me as I walk over to the counter.
“The usual?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.
I laugh. I’m in here every day working on my thesis while Lucy is at training. I love that I’m now considered a regular.
“Please. And maybe a slice of that,” I add, pointing to the chocolate cake sitting on the counter, busying myself with my phone while she rings up my order.
“I’ll bring it over to you,” she says.
I nod and take one of the tables near the rear of the café. My usual table is taken by an overweight man in a suit, with papers spread out all over the table. I can see he’s not going anywhere in a hurry.
Not that it matters. I have a better view of the studio from this table anyway. It’s less urgent that I watch her now that she knows I’m here. At least there’s less need for me to hide my presence.
The waitress drops off my coffee and cake. I dig in, eager for my caffeine hit. My phone rings. I glance at it and see that it’s Benito. I feel guilty for not getting in touch after he had me over for dinner.
“Hey, good to hear from you again,” I say when I answer.
“You too, Pietro. Free for a drink, by any chance? There’s a bar not far from my work. I get off in an hour.”
“Sure, sounds like a plan,” I agree. I’m trying to figure him out. He sounds almost anxious, like he has something on his mind. Don’t get your hopes up. It probably has nothing to do with your parents. But telling myself not to be hopeful is like telling a kid not to want candy.
The hour passes slowly, and fifteen minutes before I’m due to meet Benito, I gather my things and make my way to the bar.
It’s three in the afternoon, but obviously not too early for a shot and a beer. Old men line the bar, a drink in one hand and a defeated expression on their faces. It’s an old-style bar, the kind you’d expect to find out in the middle of nowhere, not in trendy New York. I order myself a beer and take a seat at an empty table in the back. My fingers play with a napkin that sits in front of me. The bar’s name, Screamers, is scrawled across the top corner.
“Hey. Thanks for meeting me.”
I look up as Benito slides into the seat to my left. His cheeks are flushed like he’s been running and the heavy bags under his eyes make me wonder if he’s sick. He didn’t look this bad a week ago.
“Are you okay?” I ask, concerned.
He nods, not meeting my eyes. “Yeah, it’s just been a shitty day.”
“Anything you want to talk about?” I ask.
“Nothing I can talk about.” He laughs nervously. “I didn’t ask you here to listen to my problems, Pietro. I came here to unwind.” He turns around and calls out to the barmaid. She waves her arm and I get the feeling he’s a regular.
“Fair enough,” I say, trying to get the conversation back on track, just as the waitress places a Scotch in front of him. “We might need a couple more,” I say to the waitress. I turn back to Benito and smile. “Let’s unwind, then.”
“Thanks,” he mumbles, downing his drink. He wipes his mouth and slumps forward. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I asked you to meet me. This was a stupid idea.”